Magics Unknown (Revised)
by He-Who-Laughs-At-His-Own-Jokes
Summary: The World-Eater has been defeated, and yet Skyrim is not safe. A darkness is coming. What light will stand against it? Dawnguard AU. Rated M: language, violence, sexual content. All rights and ownership to Bethesda. Updated as chapters are completed.
1. Chapter 1

**I'm doing a kind of reboot with this story. I'm changing some things but the major points will stay the same. Probably. Don't quote me on anything.**

**I feel obligated to say this: the chapter probably won't flow the best. I'm trying to explain why things happen and it makes it a bit choppy, so I apologize in advance. **

**The main character's name, Ptolomey, is pronounced "tall-oh-may". I got the idea from Ptolemy, the Greco-Roman astronomer and mathematician. Seems to fit a mage I would think.**

**I'm aware that some of the things I'm putting in here aren't accurate in the Elder Scrolls universe, but that is why it is an AU. **

_**In an age of strife, when dragons return to the realm of men, darkness will mingle with light, and the night and day will be as one.**_

Ptolomey awoke with a start and sat up in bed. He'd been dreaming again. It wasn't unusual for him to have strange dreams; mages often did. It _was _strange to have the same dream over and over again. In every tale ever written, recurring dreams were visions sent by the gods, or whoever sent such things. He hoped that wasn't true. He wanted nothing to do with a vision involving a blade and blood.

_"I've had more than enough of both,"_ he thought wearily.

He rubbed some sleep from his eyes. Another restless night. Despite what some of his associates believed, sleep was important. Researching and experimenting for days on end was fine in some cases, but a good sleep often gave you surprising insights when you awoke. He was really missing those right now: sleep and insights.

Ptolomey got out of bed and walked over to his wardrobe. The Archmage's Robes, the symbol of his position at the College of Winterhold, hung on a rack beside it. He paused and just looked at them for a moment. Sometimes he couldn't believe he was the Arch-Mage. He was by far the youngest Arch-Mage there had ever been; a fact some of the other mages never failed to remind him of.

Shaking himself out of his musing, he took his trousers from the wardrobe and slipped them on. The Robes immediately followed. The feeling of the Robes never ceased to amaze him; not just the fabric but the enchantments. Among other things, they increased his magicka pool and regeneration rate, allowing him to cast more spells more often. Another one kept his body at the same comfortable temperate no matter the weather or conditions. That one was his favorite.

After slipping on his boots he put on his amulet and his two rings, one on the middle finger of each hand. They also had numerous enchantments, and were made of gold, set with golden-yellow diamonds. He loved the color. It didn't remind him of anything, he just loved it. Feeling much better than when he'd awoken, he took a look at himself in the mirror.

He was tall for a Breton and muscular; not very bulky but well-defined. Most people thought mages were skinny little weaklings. Most of them were. Of course, he hadn't always been a mage, and he refused to let himself go soft. His black hair fell between his shoulder blades and was tied at the nape of his neck. His face had made more than a few women's breath hitch. He was what they called "ruggedly handsome". He scratched at the beard that was starting to overwhelm his face. The thing was getting itchy.

Ptolomey then looked himself in the eyes, his strange eyes. They were different colors. It wasn't that one was blue and the other was green. It was much more bizarre than that. They changed colors almost constantly, from blue to black to white to red and everything in between. He believed they were a side-effect of his ... condition.

He could feel ... well, _something _in his mind. It felt like a fight, like two wrestlers pushing against each other. It had manifested after his adventure with the Eye of Magnus, and no one at the College had any real idea what it was. Either he was going mad or it was something important.

_"Yeah. 'Cause going mad wouldn't be important,"_ he thought dryly.

He turned away from the mirror and walked toward the stairs leading down to the Hall of the Elements. He Telekinetically grabbed the Staff of Magnus from where it leaned against the wall and drew it to himself. As he grasped it, he could sense the spells being cast within the College. It was one of the Staff's powers that he'd discovered. He could sense a powerful Conjuration spell. Phinis Gestor was experimenting again, it seemed. Other minor spells of Illusion and Restoration were also being cast.

He studied the Staff for a moment. It had changed since he'd found it in Labyrinthian. Its head was the same but the shaft had become longer and thicker. The butt was no longer as pointed, so he used it as a walking staff. Maybe it could alter itself to fit its possessor's preferences. That was the only explanation he could think of.

Footsteps echoing in the stairwell brought him out of his pondering. Tolfdir emerged and gave him a polite nod which Ptolomey returned. The old mage had always been a stickler for propriety, and ever since becoming the Master Wizard he'd gotten worse. Even after two years, he refused to refer to Ptolomey as anything but Arch-Mage. Ptolomey found this annoying, but he liked the old man so he tolerated it.

"Good morning, Arch-Mage," Tolfdir said.

"Good morning, Tolfdir," Ptolomey replied. "What brings you up here?"

"Troubling news, I'm afraid," the Master Wizard answered. "A messanger from the Jarl delivered it not long ago. A rupture has been found."

Ptolomey frowned. "After all this time?" he asked. The ruptures that had appeared after the little fiasco with the Eye of Magnus had stopped after four months, nearly two years ago.

"I find it strange as well," Tolfdir replied. "However, the descriptions match those of the previous ruptures almost perfectly, right down to the magical anomalies. The Jarl has asked that it be dealt with immediately."

"Well, where is it?" Ptolomey asked.

"It is less than a mile east of Winterhold," Tolfdir answered.

Ptolomey nodded to himself. "Very well. Thank you, Tolfdir. I'll take care of it now." There was nothing more pressing that he needed to do. Then he remembered. "Would you assist J'zargo with an experiment? He couldn't find you yesterday and asked me to relay his request."

"Certainly, Arch-Mage," the Master Wizard replied crisply. He gave Ptolomey another nod which was again returned.

Ptolomey had gone down several steps before he remembered something else."Oh, and one more thing," he said sticking his head back into his chambers. Tolfdir looked at him expectantly. "Tell Colette that if she complains about someone stealing her godsdamned research materials again, I'll turn her into a horker."

Tolfdir's eyes widened in surprise, and his mouth opened and closed several times as he tried to think of a response. He looked like a fish stranded on a dock. Ptolomey quickly continued down the stairs before the old mage saw his grin. But as he descended the winding staircase, his humor vanished and was replaced by grim determination. He had a rupture to close.

The Arch-Mage brought his horse to a stop as he reached the crest of a small hill. The cold wind made his Robes flap against him but their enchantment kept him warm. His horse snorted softly, breath misting before being blown away. He patted the beast's neck absent-mindedly. His attention was focused on the rupture in the valley below.

It looked the same as the ruptures from before: a blue-white, glowing, pulsating haze around a core of light. The magicka radiating from it felt similar but not quite the same. It was also twice as large as any he'd seen. Small balls of light were buzzing about near it. Those were the anomalies.

The bodies of several travelers were lying on the nearby road. "It's a shame this is the only way we can find these things," he sighed sadly to himself. Or the horse. Or whoever might be listening.

He dismounted and tied his horse's reins to a nearby tree. Taking the Staff in hand, he trudged through the calf-deep snow toward the rupture. The anomalies ceased their wandering and turned to "look" at him. He counted seven in all, but more would appear as he approached.

Then something unexpected happened. Rather, something _didn't _happen. Instead of rushing him, as he'd expected, the anomalies simply hovered in place. Confused and suspicious, the Arch-Mage moved more slowly down the slope, holding the Staff defensively before him. The Staff could absorb magical energy, either by draining it or being struck by it. It was very useful against the anomalies.

He drew nearer and nearer, but they did nothing. He charged a Lightning Bolt in his free hand and shot it at the nearest of the floating orbs. It disappeared with a _pop_ and burst of light. The others didn't respond in the slightest. This was very unusual, and he didn't like it.

Then the rupture began to glow more brightly. He turned to face it. Now _this _was familiar. There was a flash of light, then a swarm of anomalies poured out of the rupture. These ones, at least, seemed determined to kill him. They could certainly try.

Ptolomey cast Lightning Cloak, which surrounded him in swirling Lightning. The anomalies were made of pure magical energy, and Lightning spells dispersed such energy. The foremost anomalies reached the miniature storm and _popped _out of existance. Then something else unusual happened. The rest of the anomalies stopped just outside the Cloak's reaches and began circling him. The ones he'd encountered before didn't act this way. Those had heedlessly thrown themselves into the Cloak, trying to pummel him to death. They were smarter now. He didn't like this either.

Something struck him in the side and sent him stumbling. He turned to see who or what was attacking him. A bolt of blue-white light rushed toward him. He blocked the bolt with the Staff, absorbing it. The attacker was, of all things, an anamoly. It sent another bolt of its energy toward him. This time he stepped to the side and let it pass by.

So they'd evolved as well. Growling in irritation, he swung the Staff in an arc, casting it's draining energy beam. Perhaps a dozen anomalies popped out of existance as their essence was sucked into the Staff. Several more vanished as he moved and his Cloak moved with him. Energy bolts began hurtling towards him. He bobbed and weaved, making himself as hard to hit as possible. He was sent staggering several times when his evasions weren't evasive enough. All the while he swung the Staff and drained the anomalies away.

By and by, the number of anomalies dwindled until only a few remained. Just when it seemed to be over, the rupture flashed again. More anomalies poured out of it and began swarming toward him. Ptolomey felt like he was inside a giant bee hive. There were many dozens of anomalies all around him.

His Cloak chose that moment to disperse. Growling in anger, he cast Wall of Storms, creating a circle of Lightning around himself. It would buy him some time; he needed to end this now. He held the Staff in both hands and spun it in a circle. As he did, Fire began building up along its length. When it was completely engulfed, he slammed it's butt against the ground. A huge blast of Fire erupted around him. He closed his eyes against the light.

When he could see again, he was standing in the middle of a large, snowless circle and there were no more anomalies. The size of the circle was impressive. He'd never used the Staff to cast Fire Storm before. Spells cast using the Staff became significantly more powerful, but this drained the magicka within it. It was an idle thought and he pushed it from his mind.

He turned to the rupture, which was still there, just outside the circle of slush and mud. Over a dozen anomalies hovered near it, as though guarding it. He cast Lighting Bolts at them as fast as he could. But after several were destroyed, he realized they weren't attacking. They were like the ones he'd first encountered here.

Ptolomey shook his head in confusion. Why were they acting this way? Why were only _some _of them acting this way? Why was this rupture even here? He wanted answers. The problem was, he was unlikely to get any. The rupture needed to be closed before it brought more. They were like cracks in a dam: if you didn't stop them quickly enough, more and more would appear. And he didn't know how long this one had been open.

After dispersing the Wall of Storms, he walked slowly toward the rupture, keeping an eye on the anomalies as he did. They turned to "watch" him but otherwise did nothing. As he drew near it, the rupture changed. It's center darkened, and a woman's face appeared within. It looked at him and spoke in a whisper, but he heard no discernible words.

Then, faster than he could blink, the rupture folded in on itself, sucking the anomalies with it. And it was gone. Just like that. He was absolutely dumbfounded. Who was that face? What did it say? What in Oblivion was going on?! And then, as if things weren't bad enough, that "struggle" he sensed seemed to intensify. It felt as though one side was becoming stronger than the other. It was beating its opponent back and gaining the upper hand.

This was troubling, to say the least. He needed to get back to the College and discuss this with the others. He hurried back up the slope to his horse. He'd barely climbed into the saddle before he took off at a trot. His Robes whipped around him, just as his thoughts whipped around his mind.

_"Something is very wrong."_

**If you haven't read the first rendition of this story, I hope you like it so far. If you have read the first, I hope you like it so far too. I also hope the flow wasn't intolerable.**

**As I said, the changes from my first rendition shouldn't be drastic, but don't quote me. I'll post as often as I can.**

**Ciao **


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you to those who favorited or followed this story. I appreciate it, truly. **

**Here's the next chapter. Enjoy.**

The Arch-Mage was pacing, trying to decide exactly what he was going to say. He was probably thinking about it too much. He didn't need to have any explanations for what happened. Yet he felt like he wasn't doing his job if he didn't offer one.

_"You expect too much," _he told himself._ "Just tell them what you saw."_

As soon as Ptolomey had gotten back to the College, he'd asked Tolfdir to gather everyone in the Hall of the Elements. That had been half an hour ago. So far only Urag gro-Shub, Nirya, and Faralda had arrived. Nirya and Faralda, both Altmer women, were very obviously not looking at each other. They loathed each other, for reasons probably only they could understand. Urag, an Orsimer man, showed no emotion at all.

A little while later, Tolfdir entered the Hall leading the other mages and some of the more experienced students. This brought Ptolomey's audience from three up to two dozen. The College had grown since he'd become the Arch-Mage, largely due to his efforts to mend its reputation. But that was neither here nor there.

He went straight to business. "If you aren't aware, a rupture was found near Winterhold sometime yesterday," he announced. "It has been closed, and all the anomalies destroyed." Everyone's gazes turned more questioning, wondering why he'd asked to speak with them if the problem was dealt with.

He then told them about his encounter with the rupture and its anomalies. When he'd finished, everyone stood in contemplative silent. He let them think for a time, then spoke again. "I don't know why this rupture appeared, and I'm almost certain it wasn't related to the incident with the Eye of Magnus. It's been too long, and everything was just too different. I'd like to hear your thoughts on the matter."

Everyone was silent for several moments before Drevis Neloren, a Dunmer, spoke. "Are you certain this rupture wasn't related to the Eye?" he asked. "It doesn't sound so different from those before to me."

"No," Ptolomey replied. "I'm _almost _certain. The magicka felt similar enough that it could be related. But something felt ... " He sighed in irritation. "I'm not sure how to describe it. It was just different."

"What can you tell us about the face you saw? Did you recognize it?" asked Faralda. The High Elf received a glare from Nirya, most likely for speaking before she had.

Ptolomey supressed another sigh. Those two needed to quit their foolishness. He answered the question. "It was a human woman, not very old, and if I had to guess I'd say she was a Nord. And no, I didn't recognize it."

"What of the ... "feeling" you experienced after the rupture disappeared?" Phinis asked. The Breton didn't believe that Ptolomey's "sense" was anything of consequence, and just didn't like Ptolomey much at all.

Ptolomey didn't like the man either. "One side has started gaining the upper hand," he responded curtly. "Seeing as _none _of us knows what the sense is, I don't know what it could mean." They kept glaring at each other and several people shifted in anticipation. Everyone knew there was bad blood between them.

"A different artifact could be responsible," Urag's gruff voice broke the silence. "Something that isn't in Skyrim." The College was aware of almost every necromancer and rogue mage in the province and nothing indicated any of them could be responsible.

Phinis quit glaring at Ptolomey to give Urag a disbelieving look. "The chances of another artifact as powerful as or more powerful than the Eye being found are virtually nonexistant," he countered.

He turned back to Ptolomey. "Didn't the oculory in Mzulft show no sources of magical power other than the Eye and the Staff?" he asked haughtily.

"No," the Arch-Mage replied, managing to keep his temper in check. "But it should have shown thousands. The Staff and Eye created too much interference. It's possible something powerful enough to cause the rupture was covered up." Phinis pursed his lips in thought. Everyone else looked thoughtful as well.

Tolfdir spoke up. "Perhaps a visit to Mzulft would be enlightening. With the Eye gone, the oculory can show us where the artifact, if there is one, may be found."

"But won't the Staff still create interference?" Faralda asked, receiving another glare from Nirya.

"It may," Tolfdir replied. "However I do not believe that will be the case. The Staff is not nearly as powerful as the Eye. And because the two are connected, I think the Eye increased the Staff's power, which is why it was displayed by the oculory as well. With the Eye gone, the Staff shouldn't cause any problems."

Ptolomey agreed with Tolfdir. A trip to Mzulft was in order. "Does anyone else have a question, or something they want to say?" he asked. It seemed no one did. "Very well. I'll leave for Mzulft tomorrow. Everyone just carry on as usual. Thank you for coming, and good fortune to you all."

_"Except for you, Phinis," _he growled to himself.

Everyone began talking quietly to each other. Surprisingly, Phinis was conversing with Colette Marence, a Breton woman. They disliked each other immensely. There was only one thing that they agreed on: Ptolomey didn't deserve to be the Arch-Mage. If they were to ever talk about something, it would that.

They saw him looking at them, so he shifted the Staff to be in their sight. He liked to remind them who he was and who they weren't. It probably wasn't a good idea but it felt good to see them glower at him. He continued to meet their gazes until they returned to their conversation.

Ptolomey's frown deepened. _"Something's up with them."_

At that moment, he sensed an Illusion spell being cast by the hall's exit. He looked there but didn't see anything. So he cast Detect Life. The spell showed nothing. On a hunch, he cast Detect Dead, which _did _show something. Something or someone was crouching near the entrance to the Hall. As soon as he focused on the spot, the thing opened the door and slipped through.

Several people had seen him cast the spells and were giving him questioning looks. "Something was hiding by the door," he explained.

They began casting Detect Life to see for themselves. "It's gone now," he told them. "And it was undead, anyway."

Phinis barked a laugh. "An undead creature wouldn't be here unless it was summoned by one of us," he said in a condescending tone.

"Indeed?" Ptolomey said. "Then how did it cast Invisibility?" That was most likely the spell he'd sensed, and there was no way a summoned undead could do that. Phinis just looked down his nose at him.

"This is ridiculous," Colette said suddenly. "Why would there be a vampire in the College?"

Tolfdir had been listening and now joined the conversation. "Who said anything about a vampire?"

"Well, what else would it be?" she snapped. "A draugr? If there indeed was an undead here at all." She gave Ptolomey a snobbish look.

Ptolomey's jaw clenched in anger. She thought he was making this up? "Why _would _a vampire be here, Colette?" he asked.

"I wouldn't know," she replied loftily. "I don't have, or want to have, anything to do with those creatures." With that, she turned on her heel and headed for the exit. Phinis gave Ptolomey a dark look then followed after her.

Ptolomey drew closer to Tolfdir. "Make sure to keep an eye on those two," he told the Master Wizard quietly. "They're acting strangely, even for them."

Tolfdir nodded slightly. "I agree, Arch-Mage. Their behavior is odd. I'll make sure they're monitored." Ptolomey nodded before walking over to Urag.

Almost everyone was wary of Urag, if not outright scared of him. Despite his intimidating appearance and gruff demeanor, Urag was Ptolomey's best friend. Once you got past the fangs, the scars, and his tendancy to growl when angry, he was actually very personable. For an Orc, anyway.

"What do you make of this?" Ptolomey asked.

"The rupture, or Phinis and Colette?" Urag asked.

"Both," Ptolomey replied.

Urag growled under his breath. "They're up to no good," he replied.

"Really?" Ptolomey asked in feigned surprise. Urag snarled softly at him. He held up his hands placatingly. "Okay, okay. I _did _ask. What about the rupture, then?"

"I don't know what to make of that, Ptolomey," Urag answered. It was nice to be called by his name. "Nothing I've read sounds like what you've seen. If I had to guess, I would say it was a Daedra's doing."

"You just said you've never heard anything like this," Ptolomey objected. "No Daedra has ever done this before."

"That we know of," Urag replied.

"Okay, okay," Ptolomey conceded. "That we know of." Something else came to mind. "Could it be an Aedra's doing?"

"One of your so-called gods?" Urag said incredulously. "Please. The Aedra care nothing for Mundus. They created the mortal plane, then washed their hands of it."

"So Akatosh _didn't _come here and defeat Mehrunes Dagon during the Oblivion Crisis?" Ptolomey asked.

"Is that a rhetorical question?" Urag growled. "Yes, he did. But he only did so Dagon couldn't have it."

"Maybe," the Arch-Mage replied. "That doesn't mean an Aedra isn't responsible."

"No, it doesn't," the Orc conceded. "But it _is _unlikely."

"Anyway," Ptolomey said after a moment, "I'm going to find out who's responsible. I'll start at the oculory."

"That _is _your plan, then?" Urag asked.

"Yes," Ptolomey answered, "I'm going to Mzulft. If nothing else, it'll tell me where not to go."

"And if a Daedra _is _responsible?" Urag asked. "You won't find anything at the oculory if one of them is."

"Why are you so determined a Daedra is responsible?" Ptolomey asked.

The Orc shrugged. "Instinct, intuition, whatever you want to call it."

"Well," the Arch-Mage replied, "My instinct, intuition, whatever you want to call it, tells me I need to go to the oculory in Mzulft."

Urag chuckled then clapped him on the shoulder. "Well, good luck, my friend," he said.

Ptolomey clapped the Orc on the shoulder. "You too," he replied. With that, Urag headed back to the Arcaneum and his precious books.

It was only just after noon, but Ptolomey went up to his quarters anyway. He was going to rest up. It was going to be a bit of a journey to Mzulft, and he wasn't as used to traveling as he used to be. So he spent the rest of the day relaxing. As much as he could, anyway.

He couldn't sleep that night. He didn't even lie down. He sat in his chair, thinking about what he'd seen and what it could mean. The rupture, the undead intruder, the shift of power he'd felt, Phinis and Colette. All these things couldn't be coincidence. Something important was happening, or was about to.

The thing that refused to leave his mind was the face. Who was it? _What _was it? What did it mean? Despite how he felt about sleep, he didn't think a good rest would shed any light on the subject. That woman, the face he didn't recognize. He sighed as he leaned back and closed his eyes.

_"Who are you? And what were you saying?"_

**Hope you enjoyed the chapter. Things will be getting more exciting, don't worry. See you next chapter.**

**Ciao**


	3. Chapter 3

**I've been busy and I haven't refined this chapter as much as I'd like. But it's about time I posted something. Hope you enjoy.**

Deep within his castle, Harkon sat at his desk, thinking. The reports of his agents lie before him. All said everything was going according to plan. Well, they didn't _actually _say that. His agents didn't know his plan. They simply provided him with information, and that information told him everything was going as planned. That would change soon. Plans always needed to be altered at one point or another. After so long with no bad news, he was due. That was what he was thinking about: what that news would end up being and what alterations his plan would need.

The door to his quarters opened. One of the servants entered. "My lord," he said bowing low, "Lokil seeks an audience."

Harkon leaned back in his chair. "Send him in," he replied. He was getting nowhere in his musings anyway.

The servant retreated out the door. Immediately after, a young-looking Nord entered and bowed. "My lord," he said respectfully, "Thank you for granting me an audience."

"What do you want?" Harkon asked. He didn't feel like going through pleasantries today.

"I have some information that might interest you," Lokil answered.

Harkon amused his subordinate by asking the obvious question. "What is this information?"

"The Vigilants of Stendarr-"

"The Vigilants of Stendarr are no concern of mine," Harkon said dismissively. They were a pathetic lot, even for mortals. They were no more than children playing dress-up in Papa's armor.

"Be that as it may, my lord," Lokil replied, "They have found something. Something it would not be wise to leave uninvestigated."

Harkon didn't like his tone. He glared at Lokil. "Do not presume to tell me what is or is not wise, Lokil."

Lokil bowed his head. "Forgive me, my lord. I meant no disrespect."

Harkon had half a mind to kill this impudent little creature. Lokil was the lowest member of his court, having been a vampire for only four hundred years. He was of no particular use, either. He was nothing more than a schemer, with no force or resourses to back him up. In truth, there was no reason why Harkon shouldn't just kill him now. However, the man had piqued his curiosity.

"What is this "something" the Vigilants have found?" Harkon inquired.

Lokil raised his head. "A crypt," he answered. "Near their Hall. It contains architecture and artifacts from the First Age. Possibly from the time when your wife-"

Harkon's eyes flashed in anger. "Do not speak of Valerica!" he snarled. "Need I remind you what becomes of those who do?!"

Lokil bowed his head and retreated a step. "Forgive me, my lord. I simply mean that it is old enough that it might contain what was stolen from you."

Harkon's curiosity was truly piqued now. But so was his anger. "Do you mean to tell me that these little cretins found something I have been searching milennia for?" His voice was frighteningly low. "That they just happened to stumble across an entire crypt when I have left no hole in Tamriel unsearched?"

Lokil shriveled even more. "They did not simply find it, my lord," he said softly. "The entrance was buried deep beneath the ice, near the top of the mountain. An earthquake from the Red Mountain eruption cracked the ice, and the Vigilants stumbled across it-"

"How is it you know this?" Harkon interrupted.

Lokil stood straighter. "The Vigilant who found the cave, my lord," he answered. "He told me."

Harkon raised an eyebrow at the man. "You? He told you?"

Lokil paused for an instant before answering. "I heard the Vigilants had found a cave that contained vampiric artifacts. So I captured the one who found it and questioned him. He told me where it was, and the theory of why it hadn't been found before now."

He'd never admit it, but Harkon was slightly impressed. Perhaps Lokil was not so worthless as he'd thought. And if he was right ... well, Harkon rewarded those who served him well.

"Very well," Harkon said suddenly. "You will go to this crypt and search it. If you do indeed find it, you shall be rewarded."

"Yes, my lord," Lokil said, "Thank you, my lord." His tone was carefully controlled. He clearly didn't want to appear too excited.

"Go now," Harkon said in dismissal.

Lokil bowed and retreated through the door. Harkon stared at the door. He didn't want to get his hopes up. Chances were Lokil wouldn't find anything in that crypt. He'd searched many such crypts and found nothing. But if he _did _find it, Lokil would be rewarded. They all would.

()

Ptolomey wasn't surprised they'd returned. The Falmer were nothing if not persistent. Actually, no; they weren't persistent. They were just like flies. No matter how many you killed, there were always more. There weren't as many as there had been the first time he'd come here. No doubt the survivors had warned others to stay away.

A Falmer jumped out of the shadows and swung at him. He ducked under the attack. He spun around and pinned the ugly creature to the wall with an Ice Spear through the chest. Another cast Frostbite, sending a stream of tiny ice shards at him. He absorbed it with the Staff then pinned the Falmer to the wall as he had the first.

It had taken him nearly three days to reach Mzulft and he was sore. Healing helped but didn't make it completely go away. Now, he could really tell it had been some time since he'd gone out in the field. He missed it, even if he was aching terribly. Experimenting in the College was well and good but it grew dull after a while. Administration of the College was dull whether he'd been doing it five minutes or five months; but it was his duty. Thank the gods he had Tolfdir for everyday activities. He would have stepped down otherwise. Well, maybe not.

Little had changed since he'd last been to Mzulft three years ago. The bodies of the Synod mages were mostly bone now, as were the Falmer he'd killed. Something down here must strip the flesh quickly. He'd encountered no more Automatons, which was good. Those things were hard to bring down. It was a shame the Dwemer had disappeared. A lot could have been learned from them.

Ptolomey opened the door that led to the oculory. The corridor beyond was empty and appeared undisturbed. Paratus Decimius' camp was exactly the way he'd left it. Paratus himself was lying on the floor. His skeleton was, anyway. Ptolomey had killed him. He hadn't wanted the Synod sticking their nose into the College's business, and getting it ensnared in their politics. That hadn't really been his decision to make, but he was glad he had.

He walked up the ramp to the top of the oculory. He looked at the wall where the map of northern Tamriel was. It wasn't there. He looked at the machine. The beams of light were no longer hitting the lenses as they should. That made sense. They changed temperature and the focus had been altered. He cast Frostbite on the machine several times before the beams were properly aligned. He turned his attention back to the wall.

The map now appeared as it should. There were hundreds of little pinpricks of light dotting it. The vast majority of them were very small. There were a some larger than them but only seven drew his attention. One was at Mzulft.

"Thanks for not interfering," he said to the Staff as he gave it a twirl. Talking to inanimate objects. Best not to let Phinis or Colette see that. They already thought he was mad.

Another bright spot was in Hammerfell, near the city of Sentinel. A third appeared to be in Vivec, Morrowind. Yet another was located near Daggerfall, High Rock. Ptolomey barely noticed these, for it was the three remaining points that worried him the most.

One was to the south and east of the Staff. It appeared to be somewhere in the Velothi Mountains, which formed Skyrim's eastern border. That was odd. Ptolomey didn't know of anything of importance there. The second was on the western end of Skyrim, somewhere in the Druadach Mountains. Again, Ptolomey knew of nothing of any importance there. That was probably the point. Where better to keep something powerful? Besides in plain sight. That was always the best place to hide something.

The location of the third sent a chill down his spine. It was in the northwest corner of Skyrim, on what could only be the island on which Castle Volkihar stood. Yes, the College knew of the supposed "court" of ancient vampires that dwelt there. They thought they were unknown to the world but they were wrong.

The College tried to monitor their activities, but that was difficult. No vampire had come to the College for ... ever, as far as he knew. No one was allowed in. If you were, you came out a vampire or not at all. Whatever these vampires were planning to do with this object, it couldn't be good.

Ptolomey turned away from the map and sat cross-legged on the floor. The Staff lay across his knees, his hands resting on it. This was very troubling. He needed to find out what these objects were and who possessed them. But where should he go?

The struggle he sensed continued on, two warriors hammering away at each other. No change had occured since that day he saw the woman's face. It was strange that he referred to that day by the face, of all things. He hadn't noticed doing so before. He shook his head, shoving the frivolous thought aside. Right now he needed to get back to the College and confer with the mages.

"Go to Fort Dawnguard. Now," a voice spoke behind him.

Ptolomey leapt to his feet, preparing a Lightning Bolt in one hand and casting a Ward with the Staff in the other. He spun around to face the stranger. No one was there. Only a floating ball of light, hovering at head height several yards away. He looked around to find the source of the voice. He still saw no one. He hadn't felt any spells being cast.

The voice spoke again. "Release your spells. You will not be harmed." The orb was speaking. He stared at it with calculating eyes. He'd never seen something like this before. Who or what was it? He released his spells but didn't let his guard down.

"Who are you?" he demanded.

"That is not important," the orb replied. "Time is short. Go to Fort Dawnguard. You know where it is. Now go!" The orb disappeared.

Ptolomey stared at the spot the orb had been. This just kept getting more and more confusing. Fort Dawnguard? He didn't know of any Fort Dawnguard, let alone where it was. And who or what was that orb? Was it a friend or an enemy? It didn't seem to be an enemy, but the most dangerous enemies never did.

Could Urag have been right? Was a Daedra really involved in this? Or was he right, and it was an Aedra. He didn't believe this orb was an Aedra. They'd never communicated in this manner before, as far as he knew. So it was probably a Daedra. But which?

He knew it wasn't Namira or Nocturnal. They didn't do such things. It could be Azura or Meridia. Both of them weren't really considered to be evil and both had to do with light, in a way. But its refusal to tell him who it was made him doubt that. What reason would they have to hide themselves?

This made him believe it was either Mephala or Boethiah. Liars and tricksters, the both of them. To appear as something opposite of their nature would be ... their nature. Ptolomey frowned at the contradiction. But why would it not claim to be either Azura or Meridia, or even one of the Aedra? Why not make him more likely to trust it?

Despite all of his reasoning, Ptolomey was back to where he started: he had no idea who it had been. Against his better judgement, he decided to do as the orb said. But where to go? Then it dawned on him. It must be one of the two locations in Skyrim the map was showing. It most certainly wasn't Castle Volkihar. It may be one of the ones in the other provinces. Gods, he hoped not. But which of the locations should he go to?

It only took him a moment to decide: the one to the south. It would only take him several days to reach it, whereas the western one would take him nearly two weeks to reach. Those in the other provinces could take months to reach. So he would go to the south, to that dot of light lying in the Velothi Mountains. It would prove to be one of the most important decisions of his life.

**Is it getting more exciting? Maybe? It will, I promise. I'll see you next chapter. **

**Ciao**


	4. Chapter 4

**Thank you for your support. It keeps me going on this story. Here's the next chapter. Enjoy!**

Ptolomey huffed irritably as he led his horse through the narrow cave. The animal responded with its own huff and tried to pull away. He kept his grip on the reins and pulled the horse harder. He didn't like the cramped dark place either. It didn't help that he'd been stuck riding for three days to get here. But he needed to get to Fort Dawnguard, and this cave appeared to be the only way to get to it.

They continued in the dark for several minutes before the light at the other end appeared. The cave opened into a beautiful valley. Waterfalls cascading into a small lake fringed with ice; wind gently blowing through the trees, bringing the scent of damp earth. It was a peaceful, tranquil place.

Then he saw a rather gangly youth waving his hand over his head like an idiot. "_Well, that killed the mood," _he thought grumpily.

Ptolomey climbed into the saddle and rode down the path. He had the Staff secured in a loop on his knapsack on his back. He kept the hood of his Robes up to obscure his face. Maybe the idiot would have sense enough to keep to himself. Unfortunately he didn't.

"Hey, you here to join the Dawnguard too?" he asked in a rush. The youth's eyes flashed with nervous excitement. He practically radiated energy.

Ptolomey sighed to himself. _"Wonderful. Just wonderful."_ A pesky boy to keep him company.

"Sure," he replied, keeping his eyes forward. Hopefully the boy would take the hint and not speak to him further. The hint was either unnoticed or ignored.

"Great. My name is Agmaer. I hope you don't mind if I walk up with you?" he continued in the same nervously excited voice. His voice was irritating. He had to trot to keep up with the horse.

_"Yes, I do mind."_ He wouldn't say that out loud though. He didn't want the company, but he wasn't that rude. Others might disagree but they were sticklers like Tolfdir. He was a very civil man.

"Uh, don't tell Isran I was afraid to meet him by myself. Not the best first impression for a new vampire hunter, I guess," the boy said.

Ptolomey frowned at this revelation. Vampire hunters. The Dawnguard was an order of vampire hunters. The name had sounded vaguely familiar when he'd first heard it from the orb. Now he remembered where he'd heard it. He'd read about in one of the dusty old tomes in the Arcaneum. He didn't recall many details.

The boy continued his nervous babbling. "You've probably killed lots of vampires, huh? I'm sure Isran will sign you right up. I don't know if he'll take me. I hope so."

Ptolomey glanced at the old axe hanging on the boy's hip. The blade hadn't been properly sharpened for a long time. If it was anything to go by, he wouldn't be accepted into a second-rate bandit camp let alone a guild of vampire hunters. Vampires were much more dangerous than merchant guards.

Ptolomey had another thought. Did the Dawnguard's reorganization have something to do with the vampires at Volkihar? A powerful source of magic here _and _at Catle Volkihar? He didn't believe in coincidence anymore. They must be preparing for war. Maybe the boy would be accepted, if only to bolster the ranks.

"Is it true that if a vampire so much as scratches you you'll turn into one?" the boy asked. When Ptolomey didn't reply, he continued. "I mean, how are you supposed to fight something you can't even let touch you? Maybe they use bows? I'm an okay shot with a bow, but I don't think I could kill a vampire before it got to me. Hopefully Isran will train me. You think he will? I think he will. If he accepts me, anyway."

_"Gods."_ Ptolomey lifted his eyes to the heavens. _"Make it stop. Please."_

"You don't look like a warrior," the boy continued. "Are you sure you want to join the Dawnguard? You need to be able to fight if you want to kill any vampires."

Ptolomey's patience reached its end. He dropped the reins and raised his hands. A large Fireball roared into existance between them. He hurled it at the canyon wall. It hit the stone with a tremendous explosion, sending fragments of rock cascading down the slope. His horse neighed in fear and tried to run away. He grabbed the reins and quickly brought it back under control.

He then looked at the boy. His jaw was barely attached to his head and his eyes were barely in their sockets. He stared at the fractured crater for a second then up at Ptolomey. He gasped and backed away when he saw the Arch-Mage's ever-shifting eyes.

Ptolomey met the boy's gaze for a moment before spurring his horse onward. The animal was quivering slightly so he patted it reassuringly on the neck. It seemed to calm down a little. The boy didn't calm down, nor did he rejoin him as he continued down the path.

_"Thank you, gods." _He lifted his eyes to the heavens again.

Fort Dawnguard soon came into view. The structure certainly deserved the title, more so than most "forts" he'd seen. The afternoon sun glinted faintly off of the gray walls which were taller than many trees. It seemed to be built from the mountain itself rather than next to it. He would have to have one of the scholars come down and document this place. After he concluded his business, of course.

The path began going uphill and curved to the right, toward the entrace to the fort. A man with mid-length brown hair was standing beside the gate. Ptolomey dismounted and tied the reins to a nearby sapling. He walked up the steps toward the other man.

The man studied him as he approached. His hand rested on the unfamiliar axe on his belt. Ptolomey realized what the man was probably thinking and pulled his hood back to prove he wasn't a vampire. Vampires wore hoods when forced to travel during the day. They wouldn't remove it.

The man relaxed a little, then noticed the Arch-Mage's eyes and tensed up again. "You here to join the Dawnguard?" he asked. He looked at Agmaer as the boy trudged noisily up the path. His gaze flicked back to Ptolomey quickly.

Ptolomey inclined his head slightly. "Something like that," he replied. The man's eyes narrowed at the dodging answer but he made no move to block the way. Ptolomey gave the man a respectful nod before going through the gate into the fort itself.

The gate opened into a large circular room. The ceiling was an enormous dome with a hole at the very top. The sun lit the room through that hole. There were grates lying across openings in the stone floor. He could see water beneath them. Any rain that fell would collect down there. In the center of the room stood two men.

One was a Nord with thinning hair and a warhammer on his back, dressed in the garb of a Vigilant of Stendarr. Ptolomey had little respect for the Vigilants. They _tried _to do a good thing, but just couldn't do it. They were like little children trying to play with papa's armor. They just weren't trained or equipped to deal with any true threat.

The other man was a Redguard, much larger than Ptolomey or the Nord. He also had a warhammer on his back. He had a shaved head and long full beard. Hard gray-blue eyes peered around with almost hostile awareness. This was a dangerous man; a man who knew what he was doing. Perhaps the Dawnguard could do what they claimed they could.

The Nord was speaking to Isran. "Isran, Carcette is dead. The Hall of the Vigilants, everyone, they're all dead. You were right, we were wrong. Isn't that enough for you?!" he said in a sad voice that turned angry as he finished speaking.

Isran's gaze softened ever so slightly as he spoke. "Yes, well ... I never wanted any of this to happen. I tried to warn all of you. I am ... sorry, you know." He seemed to have difficulty saying the last. Obviously he didn't apologize often.

He turned his attention to Ptolomey. "So who are you? What do you want?"

Ptolomey untied the Staff from his back. He strode up to Isran and stopped before him. The Redguard looked him in the eye and showed no reaction at all. He _was _a sturdy one.

"I'm the Arch-Mage, and I want to know what the artifact is," he replied concisely.

Isran's eyes narrowed slightly. "What artifact?" he asked evenly.

"The magical one," Ptolomey replied evenly. If Isran wanted to do this, Ptolomey was happy to play along. He'd get the answers he wanted.

Isran was silent for a moment. "Does the College just take whatever magical objects it wants?" he asked.

"No we don't," Ptolomey replied, "And you haven't answered me."

"I don't recall hearing a question."

Ptolomey carefully kept his face blank. "What is the artifact of great magical power that you have here?"

"Why would I tell you?" Isran asked, again avoiding the question.

"So you do have something."

"Did I say that?" the Redguard retorted. Ptolomey raised an eyebrow at him. Isran's jaw clenched. "Why should I tell you?" he asked in a more heated voice.

So he admitted it, more or less. "Something has happened," the Arch-Mage said. "I must investigate the artifact you possess to see if it is connected to what has happened."

Isran said nothing, so he continued. "I'm sure it is a weapon you intend to use against the vampires. I have nothing against your endeavour. Vampires are vile creatures the world would be better off without. I won't take it from you. I simply wish to analyze it."

Isran seemed unmoved. "Why should I believe you?" he asked evenly.

Ptolomey thought for a moment. "Honestly, you shouldn't," he said frankly. "It is wise to distrust anyone who might compromise your endeavour. I will not, nor will I take the artifact. I fear I have nothing more to offer than my word."

Isran looked thoughtful. After searching Ptolomey's face for a while he spoke. "Well that's not entirely true, is it?" Ptolomey frowned slightly. "You have that."

Ptolomey shook his head. "No. I am _not _trading you the Staff."

Isran studied him again. "Then you have one other option. You do something for me, I'll let you analyze all you want."

This could work. "And what is it you want me to do?" the Arch-Mage asked.

"Tolan over there was telling me about some cave the vampires were poking around in," the Redguard replied. "Seemed to think it was related to all the recent vampire attacks. Tolan, tell him about ... Dimhollow Crypt, was it?"

The Nord Isran had been speaking with stepped out of the shadows. "Yes, Dimhollow Crypt. Brother Adalvald seemed to think it contained an ancient vampire artifact of some kind. We didn't listen to him any more than we did Isran."

Ptolomey thought for a moment. Could Dimhollow Crypt be where he'd seen the other point of light? The one to the south of Castle Volkihar? If it was, he could kill two birds with one stone. Even if it wasn't, he'd still get access to Isran's object without having to Paralyze everyone. That didn't make you many friends.

He looked back at Isran. "You want me to see what the vampires are doing in Dimhollow."

Isran nodded. "I'd do it myself, but I'm needed here. Do this, and I promise you can analyze as much as you like. Provided you come out alive, of course."

Ptolomey charged a Fireball with the Staff. The ball of fire hovered above its ornate head, lighting up his face and glinting off his eyes. He released the spell once he felt the message had sunk in.

"I can handle it," he assured them.

Tolan nodded to himself. "I'll take you to Dimhollow Crypt and help you kill those monsters." Isran started to say something. "I don't want to hear it, Isran." He turned back to Ptolomey. "I'll be outside when you're ready." He shot another glare at Isran before storming past the startled Agmaer, who'd managed to slip in unnoticed.

"You there. Boy. Stop skulking in the shadows and step forward. What's your name?" Isran demanded in his commanding voice.

"I'm ... I- My name is Agmaer, sir!" the nervous boy squeaked.

Isran took a few steps forward. "Do I look like a "sir" to you, boy? I'm no soldier, and you're not joining an army."

Agmaer looked confused. "Uh, no sir. I mean, no ... ma'am?"

Ptolomey burst out laughing. He couldn't help it. That was one of the dumbest and funniest things he'd ever heard. Isran wasn't nearly as amused. If looks could kill, Ptolomey and Agmaer would have been very, very, very dead. Ptolomey had the good fortune of leaving. This poor idiot was going to wish he'd never been born.

Ptolomey headed out the door before Isran changed his mind about their agreement. The man outside gave him a strange look. Probably because he was wheezing like an old man. He couldn't help it. That was how he laughed when he thought something was really funny.

He sombered up by the time he was riding back down the path with Tolan riding beside him. He needed to get to Dimhollow and kill the vampires. Then he could study the artifact Isran possessed and maybe figure out what had happened. He wasn't too concerned. He'd cleared out dens of vampires before. Only a few, but he had done it before. This would be just like those times.

It turned out to be nothing like those times.

**I realize no one would ever say that to Isran but I wanted to put it in. That was what I thought the first time I played Dawnguard. "Do I look like a sir?" "No ma'am." Well, **_**I **_**thought it was funny. **

**These chapters are far between, and I apologize for that. Hopefully I can start getting these out quicker. See you next chapter.**

**Ciao**


	5. Chapter 5

**Thank you for your support, and I'm sorry it's been so long. Motivation has been lacking for me. But here's the next chapter. Enjoy!**

Ptolomey sent a blast of fire at the vampire that called himself Lokil. Lokil stepped behind an arch as the blast past by. He shot two Ice Spikes in quick succession back at Ptolomey, who blocked them with the Staff. He sent two Fireballs flying, one from his hand, one from the Staff. Lokil leapt away from his hiding place just in time to avoid being roasted alive.

Lokil _was _here looking for something. It appeared Adalvald, the Vigilant who'd found this place, had been right. He and Tolan lay dead at the top of the stairs which Ptolomey was now descending. Lokil had been torturing Adalvald for information when he and Tolan entered the chamber. Now Lokil was the only one left fighting. His companions were all dead.

Lokil cast a Conjuration spell and resurrected one of his companions. The pair both shot Ice Spikes at him. Ptolomey blocked them with a Ward before sending a lightning bolt at the resurrected vampire. The corpse let out a sigh of relief before it turned to ash.

Lokil snarled and sent two more spikes flying. Ptolomey dodged them then hurled another Fireball. His target ducked behind another arch, and Ptolomey used the oppurtunity to rush forward. He now stood on the opposite side of the stone from the vampire.

Lokil rushed from around the barrier, expecting Ptolomey to be near the stairs. He stopped when the Arch-Mage wasn't where he expected. Ptolomey shot a spike of ice at Lokils leg, trying to immobilize him. Unfortunately, vampires' reflexes were very fast, and Lokil twisted out of the way before he was struck.

Lokil leapt toward him with a savage growl. Ptolomey rolled to his left and out of Lokil's reach. The vampire hissed at him then lunged forward with his dagger in hand. Ptolomey rolled underneath the vampire's attack and swung the Staff at his legs. Lokil fell forward but was up in an instant.

"You fight well," Lokil admitted. "It's a shame you're fighting for the losing side."

"I'm on my own side," Ptolomey replied shortly. He'd just travelled for nearly four days, and was in no mood for this pointless banter. He watched the vampire carefully.

Lokil laughed. "Your own side? There are only two sides: vampires and their prey. And the prey always loses," he snarled as he leapt at Ptolomey again.

Ptolomey decided enough was enough. He used the Staff to cast Telekinesis and grabbed Lokil in midair. Lokil looked around in surprise then hissed angrily at Ptolomey. The Arch-Mage pointed the Staff up slightly, raising his captured opponent toward the ceiling, then slammed him against the floor. Lokil cried out in pain as his legs broke. The Arch-Mage twisted the vampire around and pinned him down on his back. Lokil gasped as all the air left his lungs.

Ptolomey walked over to stand above him. "What is the artifact, and what were you planning to do with it?" he asked in a hard voice.

Lokil laughed at him. "Foolish mage," he mocked. "The predator doesn't answer to his prey."

"Wrong answer," the Arch-Mage replied. He raised Lokil into the air again and slammed him back down. The vampire gave a pained yell as more bones broke.

"What is the artifact, and what were you planning to do with it?" Ptolomey asked again. Lokil just sneered at him. He twitched and jerked as he tried to free himself from the Staff's clutches.

Ptolomey released the Staff's grip. Telekinesis drained it's power quickly. The more he manipulated the object, the quicker the Staff drained. So he pinned Lokil's arms to the floor with Ice Spears. Lokil growled as the ice pierced his flesh. Ptolomey began draining Lokil's magika to replenish some of the Staff's reserves.

He studied Lokil for several seconds. "You're not going to answer me, are you?" the Arch-Mage asked rhetorically. Lokil sneered at him again.

Damned stubborn Nords. "Forget this," Ptolomey said. He prepared a powerful lightning bolt in his free hand. "Farewell, spawn of Molag Bal." He fired the bolt at Lokil's head, which exploded; then the body disintigrated.

Ptolomey turned his attention to the structure in which he now stood. "Structure" really wasn't the right word for it. It had no roof or walls. It was two series of arches arranged in circles around a small pedestal. Ptolomey approached the pedestal. The top of it looked similar to buttons he'd seen in Nordic ruins.

Ptolomey shook his head. _"It can't be that simple. Just push the button? No, there must be something else."_

There was nothing else of interest, though. Their were no runes, pictographs, or anything on the structures around him. The pedastel itself was unadorned. Magic could be involved but he had no idea how it would be. He pondered this for several minutes before noticing something. Not something he saw but something he felt.

That invisible struggle in his mind had changed. One side had been slowly but steadily pushing the other back ever since he'd closed the rupture. Now it was pushing faster and faster. When had that happened? What did it mean?

Ptolomey put these thoughts aside. He might as well give the button a try. He pressed it. Nothing. He pressed harder. Still nothing. It _did _need something more. With an exasperated huff he placed his hand on the pedestal and looked around, considering what to do next.

He felt a stabbing pain in his hand. He cursed loudly and looked at it. There was a spike protruding through his hand from the pedestal. The spike quickly retracted and Ptolomey Healed his hand. The hole in his flesh disappeared without a trace.

"Fucking shit," he swore again. He glared at the pedastel, but his anger changed to curiousity. His blood was flowing into grooves in the basin around the base of the "button". It then disappeared, flowing into tiny holes in the bottom. What was that for?

Then he noticed purple light coming through cracks in the floor. It formed a circle around him. He eyed the strange energy warily. Best not to take any chances. He touched the light with the Staff. Nothing happened, so he tentatively stuck his hand in it. Nothing happened. He quickly stepped out of the circle of light before something _did _decide to happen.

The light continued through one crack toward a small brazier. The brazier was lit with purple fire. The light continued down a crack to the left but stopped short of another brazier. Intrigued but cautious, Ptolomey pushed on that brazier to move it toward the light. When they touched, it too was lit with purple fire. Ptolomey continued this process with the other braziers arranged around the pedestal.

Ptolomey again noticed the struggle in his mind. With each brazier he'd pushed into place, the "losing" side was pushed back more and more quickly. This perplexed him immensely. What was going on? All he was doing was pushing strange braziers into purple light coming from the floor. Okay, it sounded strange when he put it that way. But how could it effect what was happening in his mind? Maybe he really was going mad. He pulled back his hood and scratched his head in frustration. He'd have to tell Tolfdir about this when he returned to the College.

Finishing his brooding, Ptolomey pushed the final brazier into place. As it caught fire, the whole structure glowed with the purple light. The stone floor dropped beneath him to reveal a stone sarcophagus, upon which the pedastel stood. Ptolomey approached it. There was nothing inscribed on the stone; no indication of who'd made it or how long ago. The stone itself was unremarkable. Still, anything this hard to access had to be important.

What could the artifact be? It must have been large to need such a large container. Or maybe ... Well, there was only one way to find out. Ptolomey took a deep breath and reached toward the sarcophagus. Before he'd touched it, it trembled slightly before part of it began sliding into the floor. Ptolomey took a small step back. His eyes widened and his mouth dropped open at what he saw.

_"A woman?" _

A woman stood in the sarcophagus, her arms crossed over her chest and her eyes closed. Her clothing was a style that Ptolomey had never seen before. Her skin was very pale.

She started to fall forward. By reflex, Ptolomey stepped forward and caught her. She leaned heavily against him for a moment, her face turned to the side and pressed against his shoulder. She exhaled heavily and put her arms on his to help her stand straight. She turned her head and looked at him.

Ptolomey stared. She was one of the most beautiful women he'd ever seen. Everything about her face was just perfect; from her high cheekbones to her full lips to her black hair that framed her face and fell to her shoulders. But what captivated him most was her eyes. They were a golden yellow, like the diamonds on his rings and amulet. They were the most beautiful eyes he'd ever seen.

She blinked and stepped away from him. He suddenly realized something. He'd seen her before. _She_ was the face he'd seen in the rupture. Who was she? Had she sent the rupture?

He noticed something else as the woman looked him up and down. It was gone. The struggle in his mind. It was just gone; vanished without a trace. If he'd been utterly perplexed before, now he was completely stupefied. What in the name of Aetherius was going on? He gave a small start when the woman cleared her throat.

"Who sent you here?" she asked, watchig him warily.

It took Ptolomey a moment to remember why he was there. "A man named Isran," he answered.

_"Focus, you idiot,"_ he told himself. He had no idea who she was. She very well might try to kill him. Although, if she'd wanted to, she would have done it while he'd been gaping at her like an adolescent seeing breasts for the first time. He watched her carefully.

The woman's brow furrowed. "I don't know who that is," she said. "Is he like me?"

For a moment, Ptolomey wondered what she meant. Then he realized. "A vampire? No, he isn't. In fact, he and the Dawnguard would want you killed."

"Not fond of vampires, are they?" She narrowed her eyes slightly. "Are you not one of them?"

Ptolomey shook his head. "I'm here at his request, but no. I'm not one of them"

The answer seemed to calm her somewhat. "So who are you?" she asked, her voice less severe.

Despite himself, Ptolomey relaxed somewhat as well. "I am Ptolomey," he answered, "Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold." He made a polite bow.

A small smile lit up her face. "Well, that explains the ridiculous clothes," she said cheekily. "My name is Serana. Good to meet you." She bowed her head slightly.

Ptolomey stared at her for a moment, then blinked hard. Damn, she had a pretty smile. "Nice to meet you, as well," he replied cordially.

_"You idiot. Don't get friendly," _he told himself. _"You don't know who she is, why she's here, or anything."_

He noticed something sticking over her right shoulder. He didn't know how he hadn't noticed it before. He looked more closely. He felt his stomach sink to somewhere around his knees. _This _was what they were after. This was bad; very bad indeed.

Serana had an Elder Scroll.

**Now they've met. I hope I did okay. The next chapter is from Serana's perspective.**

**Ciao**


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